


Life-Blood

by Kay (sincere)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Adrenaline sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 12:05:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sincere/pseuds/Kay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their blood rushes hot after a battle. It's only partly from the adrenaline, the danger of the fight. Part of it is because Thor keeps trying to protect Sif, and Sif is going to make him understand that she has no interest in, or need for, his protection. Forcibly, if necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life-Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Contains some porny content. Written for the kink_bingo square "guns/blades", and the hc_bingo hurt/comfort prompt "combat".

One enemy darted up behind her, and Thor dodged under his own opponent to knock it aside before she could spin around. Another enemy fired an arrow at her, and Thor roared, jumping between them and charging for the archer, Mjolnir's impact against its skull satisfying, a victory marred only by the heartbeat when he turned and saw her, their eyes making contact for a moment over her raised shield, hers flat and grim.

In the heat of the moment he had assumed she wouldn't notice. They worked as a single entity, swinging into action where needed and looking out for one another seamlessly; there was no room for second guessing, no room for hesitation. A consummate warrior like Sif would never act selfishly when they were endangered, jeopardizing their safety with suspicions and personal wishes.

She waited until after.

Thor was just lowering the hammer, satisfied, and turning back to her, when she struck him in the jaw with her fist clenched tight around the hilt of her sword. He staggered back and she rammed her shoulder into his chest, knocking him further off-balance, and then her foot snapped out, kicking his legs out from under him. He fell hard, slamming into the ground beneath them, and then Sif's sword was at his pulsepoint, and he froze.

She said, icily, "You think I require your protection, _my prince_?"

Thor cleared his throat. "Require -- is too strong a word," he began.

His demurrals did not satisfy her. "Nor do I want it!" she hissed. Her sword pressed tighter to his neck, almost digging into his skin, but her control was rigid and it did not cut him. "Am I so weak? So useless, that you do not trust me to watch my own back in battle, much less yours?"

"No!" he protested. "I would trust none other!"

"I could have taken them on my own," Sif snapped. "I had everything under control! You should have minded your own fights instead of trying to interfere in mine!"

Thor said stubbornly, "You could have been hurt! Is it so out of line to protect one's comrade?"

Sif's lips curled back, and she dropped down so suddenly that Thor thought her blade would surely pierce his throat, but her arm drew back, so that her sword never moved as she dropped astride his chest. It was only in the beat after she had gone still that it drifted forward, just a hair, enough to prick his skin, letting blood well up against the steel.

And he had absolutely no doubt that she had meant to do exactly that -- no more and no less.

"If I am hurt, I will be hurt under my own power," Sif murmured. "You will not fight my battles for me. If I am too slow to stop an enemy's blade, I do not require you to step in and spare me a scar that would teach me to be quicker." She was breathing fast, her eyes fixed on his, hers hot and fierce. The blade dug deeper, opening a wider cut. A thin rivulet of blood trickled down his neck, but Thor barely felt it, his attention so focused on her that it felt all his other senses dulled.

"You are not my savior, Thor," she told him. "My life is not in your hands."

He could think of no other words to argue with her. He did not pretend to fully understand what she wanted, or why his help was so unwelcome. He would not have protested if she had leaped in to dispatch an opponent he had not noticed behind him; in fact, he would expect no less. But he knew that this struggle, this passion, this blazing will to prove and better herself -- no matter what it meant sacrificing -- was the most beautiful part of her.

"You are your own savior," he agreed, his voice thick in his throat. "But... if not your life, then... what of your heart?"

Sif's gaze lowered, flicking over him in a single heartbeat, and then she met his eyes again. "Also in my hands," she informed him curtly, but she ducked in, angling the sword to the side and letting it fall to the earth, and her lips met his with a raw hunger that quickly stirred an answering flare of desire in his belly.

Thor lifted his arms, cupping her face as they kissed, and then her fingers were running over his chest, skimming down to the waistband of his trousers. She settled back and began working the leather of his armor from his hips, purposeful.

The adrenaline of the fight was still racing through his veins; it lit him ablaze, and if anything, the lingering aches and pains of their fights only lended to the sweetness of the pleasure he felt. Thor rather suspected Sif felt the same way, from the way her head ducked down, and her lips brushed lingeringly over his neck, tongue lapping slowly at the cut she had left on his neck. It was not an apology: it was a celebration, as if the tart taste of his blood on her tongue was an aphrodisiac.

"So, then," he said, thin and breathless, "you may -- choose to whom you give it."

Sif had his trousers open, and she was shifting up to rid herself of hers, working them out of only the bare minimum of armor and clothing necessary to bring them together. "Not... entirely," she admitted.

Even that much concession made him throb with heat, the idea that she might not have iron control in this one area of her life, _him_. Thor swallowed a noise of hunger, and his hands shifted to her hips, the skin bared by her movements, and he steered her so that she was poised over him, his ready cock between her thighs. Sif rolled her hips forward, grinding herself into his cock. She was already wet, and he could not keep himself from groaning this time.

Her fingers tangled with his, tugging his hands away from her, and she pressed them back to the ground beside his head, purposeful, her message clear: _Do not touch._

But the words she murmured against his lips were, "My heart is for you, beloved."

Then she kissed him again, sinking down onto him in one quick movement, sheathing all of him inside her body. She was tight and wanton, liquid heat embracing his shaft in a hungry grip, and Thor had to shudder and curl his fingers around hers to keep from bucking up into her, hitching back and dragging her down again. He wanted to roll them over so that he had more leverage and plow into her with all the strength he possessed, knowing she would love it and crave it, and that she was _his_ in the same helpless way that he was all and utterly hers.

But instead he stayed still while she rode him, rocking her body over his hips, squeezing his cock and taking her pleasure; he panted for breath and watched, his hazy vision seeing her, only her, still in her armor with her hair flying wild about her, a bruising scratch on her cheek and blood trickling along her hairline, her dark eyes on him, willingly prone beneath her.

When she finished he saw her triumphant, proud and unbent and fingers digging into his as she gasped, and that was all he needed to follow her.

They laid together afterward, breathing fast and ragged on the hard ground; she was draped over his chest, and he was sure it could be no more comfortable for her than it was for him, with her breastplate digging into his leather armor and her hip guard stabbing him in the belly. But he only brought a hand up to stroke over her hair, smoothing it against her head, and she tucked her chin against his collarbone and steadied her breaths.

"I could not bear it if you were hurt," he said, hushed. It was true that he would choose no one faster than Sif to fight by his side; and true that if he had seen Loki or Volstagg in the same position she had been in, he would have done the same for them. But perhaps it was also true that he would not have looked so closely, if his mind had not been preoccupied with the dreaded thought of holding her in his arms as the life pulsed from her body with every faltering heartbeat.

Enough time and passion had elapsed from the battle that she did not bristle at the reminder; she only let out a breath, the soft sound fluttering away as the breeze picked up. "I could not bear it to not have the chance to be hurt," she murmured.

And then he thought he understood. In Asgard, it was accepted that a woman's role was to mind the home and the shop, to see to finances and teaching, to produce and to care for children. Thor was blessed to know that it was not a woman's only role, because he had known Sif for as long as he could remember, and Sif had never allowed what was accepted to dictate how she would think or behave. Though a part of him liked to imagine that someday she would not find it appalling to sit his mother's throne, to be that compassionate goddess whose faith and love supported him through a reign as long as his father's, he could never imagine that she would not also be right there beside him when he rode out to battle, sitting her own horse, carrying her own blade. It would be to take away the most fundamental parts of her.

For Sif, his fear must seem to her like a threat: a menacing warning that someday she might end up consigned to a tower chamber, for her own safety, only watching as men went to war.

He stroked her hair again, and then let his hand slip to her shoulder, only embracing her, lightly. "I am a fool."

"Your heart was in the right place," she denied.

He chuckled. Of course she would argue, the moment he sought to concede to her. "A fool whose heart was in the right place," he said. "But I must trust you to be the master of your own destiny. No one could defend your cause so well as you. I cannot be your champion, but I will be your staunch ally."

A tiny smile crossed her face, and slowly she shifted up, propping her elbows on his chest. "And that is why you have my heart."

As many times as she said it, his breath still caught every time. An answering smile settled on his face. "Even though I know no better than to try and champion you?"

She brushed her fingers over his lips. "Because," she pronounced, "you champion me out of the goodness of your heart... and have the grace to accept when I tell you that what I want is not a champion, but an ally."

He would have kissed her again, but there were sounds across the field of rustling tack and hoofbeats, and in instants they were both up, fixing their clothing and attempting to make themselves presentable once more.

"You have a little--" Sif said, gesturing slightly at his throat. Thor lifted a hand to it, and found the cut she had made earlier, and his lips quirked up. So did hers.

"You just wanted to remind me that was there," he accused her.

"You liked it when I gave it to you," she said smugly. "Consider that your badge of honor, champion."


End file.
